— ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ's ɴᴏ ᴊᴜsᴛɪᴄᴇ

mobile navigation. The dragons are dead from wars they never won. From the North to Dorne peace has been achieved for over four hundred years. Until the white winds howl at night and the nine kings gather a taste for blood. Lions will grow gaunt and VIPERS crushed beneath the hooves of stags. Tensions will rise and alliances will shatter. Brother will slaughter brother until nothing remains but the burned ruins of castles. The white raven will fly, and winter will come–the great war coming with it.